[FIC] Virgin Sacrifice (Angel Sanctuary, Uriel/Katou)
Title: Virgin Sacrifice.
Fandom:Angel Sanctuary.
Rating: R
Trope Bingo square: Virgin fic.
Summary: No-one should have to die a virgin more than once. Seriously, it’s embarrassing. Uriel/Katou.
Word count: 1537
Dying a virgin is just another one of those embarrassing, fucked up things Katou has to live with after his death. Even if he has sex here in the underworld (and quite frankly, his odds are not looking so hot right now), it doesn’t change the basic, shitty, underlying fact.
He died a virgin. Even worse, he keeps dying one. How humiliating is that? Seriously, they’ve got angels here for everything from the Angel of Bad Thoughts (Katou privately thinks that most of the winged bastards have rotated through that position) to Angel of Toe Jam. Isn’t there an angel of dirty, one-night stands somewhere who can maybe sprinkle him with a little bit of pixie dust and get him laid?
“I’m really going to need to educate you on the finer points of angelism,” Uriel says, instead of doing something helpful like giving up the names of the kinkier angels. “However, your little rant does at least explain why you are sitting in my lap.” A hint of a smile corrupts Uriel’s attempt at a stern look into something much softer. “Not that I am exactly unhappy with this sudden change in your usual seating plans.”
Of course Uriel isn’t. It’s probably been decades since Uriel got laid himself. Besides, Katou knows he’s hot, and there has got to be a reason why Uriel insists on bringing him back.
“You,” Katou says darkly, eyes hooded and his mouth twisted into a grimace, “are the closest this place has to a hot, non-dead being.” And even then Katou is playing hard and fast with the rules. “I have no idea how long I’ll be alive for this time, and I’m not planning on wasting any of it on that shitty courting stuff.” Katou learnt damn quickly that roses are for gravestones and chocolates are for those who still possess their taste-buds. Like he’s going to fuck around with that.
“You do tend to get yourself killed with remarkable frequency,” Uriel says agreeably, a heavy hand coming to rest on Katou’s hip. Katou can feel Uriel’s fingertips through his shirt, and they’re doing this thing that he totally knows he could describe if he wasn’t a fucking virgin. All he knows is that Uriel’s fingers are barely moving - just sort of pressing there - but it’s like everything else is blurring into nothing because ohmygod. “Yue.”
His eyes snap up from where they have dropped down to Uriel’s hand (those fingers, Katou’s hip) and back to darkly amused eyes. Katou is not darkly amused, just dark and a little bit pissed, because now is not the time to use that word.
The way Uriel always says his name - so damn casually, like it’s nothing - is like a shot of fucking lightning. It’s supposed to be hissed as an insult, murmured by knowing lips that flaunt the true, underlying nature of his stupid, screwed-up (and it’s not his fault, damn it, he’s just one big self-fulfilling prophecy) birth right.
What gives Uriel the right to strip all those truths from it, and leave his name - that word - just a thing?
You can’t do that, you can’t fucking do that. You can’t just fucking decide that all that loathing and hate and shame that you’ve been fucking banded with since birth is just not fucking there-
Strong hands latch up behind the back of Yue’s neck and drag him violently forward, crushing mouths and teeth and lips and fuck-
Katou doesn’t care about his name. He can’t even remember it. Because Uriel is - Jesus fucking Christ - he’s kissing Katou, and Katou is maybe a little bit hysterical because he thinks Uriel should taste like ash or death or maybe decomposing food or something, but he tastes of nothing. Is that an angel thing, or a death thing, or a not high on drugs thing? Katou HAS kissed other people when he’s really needed another hit and has been so high that he doesn’t mind sliding his mouth over all sorts of interesting things. Those sorts of kisses taste like colours, usually the kind you find at the bottom of your trash after a seriously hot summer. Cheap drugs do that to you.
Uriel’s mouth doesn’t taste of anything, and it’s the same mouth that shapes Katou’s name into nothing, so maybe it’s just a stupid, uniquely Uriel thing. Katou thinks distantly that it’s a good mouth, strong and versatile and so, so fucking bad for an addict with an oral fixation. He can’t get enough, arching up and out of Uriel’s lap and deeper, more desperately into that mouth. Calm hands smooth down the backs of Katou’s thighs, and Katou’s moaning like a freaking whore, which is way better than whimpering like a virgin.
“Yue,” Uriel says again, murmured against Katou’s lips, breathed into his mouth, shoved down his throat and fucking with his heart. “Perhaps we should relocate to a more appropriate location.” Uriel’s polite, formal suggestion is so totally inappropriate given all the things that mouth is currently doing to Katou, but it turns out that Katou isn’t totally a lost cause when it comes to resisting Uriel.
“No way.” A smirk hitches at the corner of Katou’s lips. “I’ll fall through a trap door, or someone will drop a boulder on me, or a wall will explode, or a once-friend will turn out to be evil incarnate and spike me through with his fucking hand. And, I will die a virgin.”
Again.
No. Fucking. Way.
Uriel looks as though he’s ready to protest, but Katou’s flush against Uriel’s chest, up on his knees and hands tangled in Uriel’s so-damn-beautiful hair. Maybe it’s the way that Katou feels against him, or maybe it’s just the hint of desperation that leaks stupidly into his eyes. Fuck, maybe it’s just the way Katou can’t quite keep his breaths even because Uriel is so ridiculously hot right now, but Uriel’s protest dies on his lips.
“Alright,” Uriel allows reluctantly, before his gaze firms. “But we do this my way.”
Uriel’s way seriously rocks. It’s all hands and teeth and skin and - fuckingchrist - how the hell can the angel feel so good arching up inside of him, clawing him, still calling him Yue of all things even when he’s screwing Katou senseless -
Katou dies a week later. Stupidly sacrifices himself for someone he doesn’t know just because they have a nice arse and maybe an even nicer soul. He comes back to the world of the somewhat breathing through a fog of confusion that leaves him off balanced and vulnerable. He’s not sure who he is or what shape he should hold, and all he has to glue himself back together are odd, sparks of thought that must have belonged to him at some point.
He better not still be a virgin. For fuck’s sake.
And then there is a mouth pressed against his, slowly teasing him back in the right direction. He remembers dark eyes and shimmering hair, and while neither are his own, he remembers what he looks and feels like to the angel who owns them. A wavering sense of self returns, and he reaches up and wraps his arms around Uriel, drawing him down deeper into the kiss.
Only then does Katou open his eyes.
“Just in case you had forgotten,” Uriel murmurs down at him. Eyes heavy with concern take up most of Katou’s field of vision, and the dark shadows beneath them makes Katou think it has been days since Uriel has slept. He ... he doesn’t understand why Uriel goes to such lengths to bring him back, time and time again.
“I might need a little bit more reminding,” Katou offers back weakly, making a passing attempt at a swoon. Turns out that such romantic gestures are pretty difficult when you’re already stretched out on your back. Plan B, then. “This seems like as good a place as any.”
“Here?” Uriel asks dubiously, eyes scanning over the stone altar with more than a touch of disdain. “Do beds really offend you that much?” Gentle fingers brush through Katou’s hair, and while the softness is awkward and sort of weird, it also feels disturbingly nice.
“Could fall down the stairs, might have a heart attack when I try to sit up, could get jumped by some ungodly-“ he’s too tired to continue, and his words drift off in a garbled tangle of syllables.
Uriel places another soft kiss against Katou’s mouth.
They make it to Uriel’s stupid bed. Katou falls immediately to sleep once they do, totally justifying his call for altar sex. At least Uriel is there when he wakes, all half-naked goodness and velvet hair. A very important point becomes very apparent then, and not the least because of the way the light shimmies down Uriel’s chest.
“You do realise I’m going to have to lose my virginity all over again, right?” It’s one of those little known quirks of being born into a new body. Uriel’s quirked eyebrow suggests that Uriel doesn’t need an excuse, but that he’s willing to play along with Yue’s silly little insecurities, anyway.
It turns out Uriel’s bed is pretty damn perfect, after all.
Fandom:Angel Sanctuary.
Rating: R
Trope Bingo square: Virgin fic.
Summary: No-one should have to die a virgin more than once. Seriously, it’s embarrassing. Uriel/Katou.
Word count: 1537
Dying a virgin is just another one of those embarrassing, fucked up things Katou has to live with after his death. Even if he has sex here in the underworld (and quite frankly, his odds are not looking so hot right now), it doesn’t change the basic, shitty, underlying fact.
He died a virgin. Even worse, he keeps dying one. How humiliating is that? Seriously, they’ve got angels here for everything from the Angel of Bad Thoughts (Katou privately thinks that most of the winged bastards have rotated through that position) to Angel of Toe Jam. Isn’t there an angel of dirty, one-night stands somewhere who can maybe sprinkle him with a little bit of pixie dust and get him laid?
“I’m really going to need to educate you on the finer points of angelism,” Uriel says, instead of doing something helpful like giving up the names of the kinkier angels. “However, your little rant does at least explain why you are sitting in my lap.” A hint of a smile corrupts Uriel’s attempt at a stern look into something much softer. “Not that I am exactly unhappy with this sudden change in your usual seating plans.”
Of course Uriel isn’t. It’s probably been decades since Uriel got laid himself. Besides, Katou knows he’s hot, and there has got to be a reason why Uriel insists on bringing him back.
“You,” Katou says darkly, eyes hooded and his mouth twisted into a grimace, “are the closest this place has to a hot, non-dead being.” And even then Katou is playing hard and fast with the rules. “I have no idea how long I’ll be alive for this time, and I’m not planning on wasting any of it on that shitty courting stuff.” Katou learnt damn quickly that roses are for gravestones and chocolates are for those who still possess their taste-buds. Like he’s going to fuck around with that.
“You do tend to get yourself killed with remarkable frequency,” Uriel says agreeably, a heavy hand coming to rest on Katou’s hip. Katou can feel Uriel’s fingertips through his shirt, and they’re doing this thing that he totally knows he could describe if he wasn’t a fucking virgin. All he knows is that Uriel’s fingers are barely moving - just sort of pressing there - but it’s like everything else is blurring into nothing because ohmygod. “Yue.”
His eyes snap up from where they have dropped down to Uriel’s hand (those fingers, Katou’s hip) and back to darkly amused eyes. Katou is not darkly amused, just dark and a little bit pissed, because now is not the time to use that word.
The way Uriel always says his name - so damn casually, like it’s nothing - is like a shot of fucking lightning. It’s supposed to be hissed as an insult, murmured by knowing lips that flaunt the true, underlying nature of his stupid, screwed-up (and it’s not his fault, damn it, he’s just one big self-fulfilling prophecy) birth right.
What gives Uriel the right to strip all those truths from it, and leave his name - that word - just a thing?
You can’t do that, you can’t fucking do that. You can’t just fucking decide that all that loathing and hate and shame that you’ve been fucking banded with since birth is just not fucking there-
Strong hands latch up behind the back of Yue’s neck and drag him violently forward, crushing mouths and teeth and lips and fuck-
Katou doesn’t care about his name. He can’t even remember it. Because Uriel is - Jesus fucking Christ - he’s kissing Katou, and Katou is maybe a little bit hysterical because he thinks Uriel should taste like ash or death or maybe decomposing food or something, but he tastes of nothing. Is that an angel thing, or a death thing, or a not high on drugs thing? Katou HAS kissed other people when he’s really needed another hit and has been so high that he doesn’t mind sliding his mouth over all sorts of interesting things. Those sorts of kisses taste like colours, usually the kind you find at the bottom of your trash after a seriously hot summer. Cheap drugs do that to you.
Uriel’s mouth doesn’t taste of anything, and it’s the same mouth that shapes Katou’s name into nothing, so maybe it’s just a stupid, uniquely Uriel thing. Katou thinks distantly that it’s a good mouth, strong and versatile and so, so fucking bad for an addict with an oral fixation. He can’t get enough, arching up and out of Uriel’s lap and deeper, more desperately into that mouth. Calm hands smooth down the backs of Katou’s thighs, and Katou’s moaning like a freaking whore, which is way better than whimpering like a virgin.
“Yue,” Uriel says again, murmured against Katou’s lips, breathed into his mouth, shoved down his throat and fucking with his heart. “Perhaps we should relocate to a more appropriate location.” Uriel’s polite, formal suggestion is so totally inappropriate given all the things that mouth is currently doing to Katou, but it turns out that Katou isn’t totally a lost cause when it comes to resisting Uriel.
“No way.” A smirk hitches at the corner of Katou’s lips. “I’ll fall through a trap door, or someone will drop a boulder on me, or a wall will explode, or a once-friend will turn out to be evil incarnate and spike me through with his fucking hand. And, I will die a virgin.”
Again.
No. Fucking. Way.
Uriel looks as though he’s ready to protest, but Katou’s flush against Uriel’s chest, up on his knees and hands tangled in Uriel’s so-damn-beautiful hair. Maybe it’s the way that Katou feels against him, or maybe it’s just the hint of desperation that leaks stupidly into his eyes. Fuck, maybe it’s just the way Katou can’t quite keep his breaths even because Uriel is so ridiculously hot right now, but Uriel’s protest dies on his lips.
“Alright,” Uriel allows reluctantly, before his gaze firms. “But we do this my way.”
Uriel’s way seriously rocks. It’s all hands and teeth and skin and - fuckingchrist - how the hell can the angel feel so good arching up inside of him, clawing him, still calling him Yue of all things even when he’s screwing Katou senseless -
Katou dies a week later. Stupidly sacrifices himself for someone he doesn’t know just because they have a nice arse and maybe an even nicer soul. He comes back to the world of the somewhat breathing through a fog of confusion that leaves him off balanced and vulnerable. He’s not sure who he is or what shape he should hold, and all he has to glue himself back together are odd, sparks of thought that must have belonged to him at some point.
He better not still be a virgin. For fuck’s sake.
And then there is a mouth pressed against his, slowly teasing him back in the right direction. He remembers dark eyes and shimmering hair, and while neither are his own, he remembers what he looks and feels like to the angel who owns them. A wavering sense of self returns, and he reaches up and wraps his arms around Uriel, drawing him down deeper into the kiss.
Only then does Katou open his eyes.
“Just in case you had forgotten,” Uriel murmurs down at him. Eyes heavy with concern take up most of Katou’s field of vision, and the dark shadows beneath them makes Katou think it has been days since Uriel has slept. He ... he doesn’t understand why Uriel goes to such lengths to bring him back, time and time again.
“I might need a little bit more reminding,” Katou offers back weakly, making a passing attempt at a swoon. Turns out that such romantic gestures are pretty difficult when you’re already stretched out on your back. Plan B, then. “This seems like as good a place as any.”
“Here?” Uriel asks dubiously, eyes scanning over the stone altar with more than a touch of disdain. “Do beds really offend you that much?” Gentle fingers brush through Katou’s hair, and while the softness is awkward and sort of weird, it also feels disturbingly nice.
“Could fall down the stairs, might have a heart attack when I try to sit up, could get jumped by some ungodly-“ he’s too tired to continue, and his words drift off in a garbled tangle of syllables.
Uriel places another soft kiss against Katou’s mouth.
They make it to Uriel’s stupid bed. Katou falls immediately to sleep once they do, totally justifying his call for altar sex. At least Uriel is there when he wakes, all half-naked goodness and velvet hair. A very important point becomes very apparent then, and not the least because of the way the light shimmies down Uriel’s chest.
“You do realise I’m going to have to lose my virginity all over again, right?” It’s one of those little known quirks of being born into a new body. Uriel’s quirked eyebrow suggests that Uriel doesn’t need an excuse, but that he’s willing to play along with Yue’s silly little insecurities, anyway.
It turns out Uriel’s bed is pretty damn perfect, after all.